


Do You Hear What I Hear?

by teacuphuman



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Christmas Caroling, Christmas Fluff, Flirting, M/M, Secret Saito Gift Exchange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-17 14:19:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13078665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teacuphuman/pseuds/teacuphuman
Summary: Eames joins Arthur's caroling group and it goes about as well as you'd imagine.





	Do You Hear What I Hear?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [deinvati](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deinvati/gifts).



> This is in the 5+1 format for the lovely deinvati, whose prompt was Caroling. I hope you like it!

1.

November 16th. The Carson Road Carollers meet on Thursday evenings at the Caterwaul Pub on Jensen Ave. It’s a bone of contention to some, but the pub on Carson Road banned them from attendance when Ariadne insisted she could hit a high F and, well, they all lost a little bit of their hearing that day, as well as their rehearsal space. One might wonder why a group of dedicated carollers meet in a noisy pub, but the answer to that is easy: booze. Half of them refuse to sing unless they’re well lubricated, claiming it’s due to nerves, and even Arthur has to admit that drinking two hot toddies before heading out keeps his limbs and his vocal cords warm.

 

Arthur unofficially leads the group because he’s the only one organized enough, though the others don’t let him make any decisions without their input. He tells himself it’s because they’re democratic, but really it’s because they love to torment him whenever the chance arises. He’s running late today because of a last minute claim, and he knows they’ll all be three glasses in by the time he arrives. They’re a month away from the biggest week of their year and it’s time to buckle down and set the song list. He has six different arrangements to choose from and he wants to hit the ground running this year so they’re not still arguing about it on their first night out.

 

He hurries into the back room of the pub, already apologizing as he pushes through the door and unwinds his scarf, but no one pays him any mind. They’re all gathered around a newcomer, who seems to be recounting a bawdy tale of adventure that has Arthur flushing after only a few words.

 

“Excuse me,” he says loudly, and never let it be said that Arthur is meek. His voice is deep and imposing when he wants it to be, and it’s more than enough to break through the chatter.

 

“Arthur!” Mal exclaims, throwing her arms wide and nearly toppling off the table. She rolls sideways into Dom, her skirt inching up her thighs until Arthur can see the top line of her stockings.

 

“I’m twenty minutes late, how did you all get drunk so fast?” He asks, folding his coat carefully over a chair.

 

“Talent,” Yusuf says.

 

“Perseverance,” Ariadne adds.

 

“Rum,” Dom burps, eliciting giggles from Mal.

 

“So you’re our commandante,” the newcomer says, eyeing Arthur. “I’ve heard all about you, pet.”

 

“I’m Arthur, and nothing you’ve heard it true, I’m sure.”

 

“Rude,” Robert says, offended.

 

“Well, they definitely did not do your looks justice because you are exquisite, darling.”

 

“It’s Arthur. And you are?” 

 

“Eames, entirely at your service.” He holds out his hand, twisting Arthur’s wrist when he goes to shake, and planting a kiss on the back of his hand.

 

“We don’t share fluids during the season,” Arthur informs him, ignoring the flush he can feel creeping up his neck. “The last thing we need is to all come down with a bad cold.”

 

Eames’ eyes slide to where Dom and Mal are both taking sips from the same glass, but Arthur ignores them. It’s important to establish boundaries immediately in order to maintain the respect of the group, and he won’t allow Eames to throw off their rhythm, uneven as it can sometimes be.

 

Eames’ eyes land on Arthur once more and he licks his lips and smirks.  “Well then, I’ll be sure to save all my up until you tell me the time is right .”

 

2.

November 23rd. After the fiasco of the previous week, Arthur makes sure he leaves work early so he’s at rehearsal before any of the others. No actual singing happened that day, so they’re already behind schedule, and the others made sure to deadlock the song list, with Arthur, Mal, Robert and Saito on one side and Dom, Yusuf, Ari, and Eames on the other. Just as Arthur suspected, Eames has thrown everything into chaos. They’re no longer an uneven number so voting is impossible because they’re all children and refuse to do a blind vote on the off chance they’ll miss an opportunity to rile Arthur up. 

 

If pressed, and I mean really, really pressed, Arthur might admit he’s a tad jealous of Eames. Like, 0.4% jealous, because this group is made up of his friends, and maybe that wasn’t always the case, but this is their fourth year together, and now they hang out during the rest of the year, too. Arthur was a groomsman at Mal and Dom’s wedding and he goes to Ariadne’s art shows and watches Yusuf’s cat when he’s out of town. He’s Robert’s emergency contact and he’s the executor of Saito’s estate, for god’s sake. He’s worked hard to have these people want to be around him, and all Eames did was walk through the damn door.

 

Technically, Yusuf is to blame for all of it since he’s the one who brought Eames along. He was all ‘He’s a childhood friend, Arthur’ and ‘You said we should recruit new people, Arthur’, and yes, maybe he did say that, but he didn’t mean  _ Eames. _

 

“Darling, you’re here early,” Eames says from behind Arthur, startling him out of his thoughts.

 

“Mr. Eames, you’ve returned,” Arthur drawls flatly, hiding his surprise.

 

“Of course! I made a commitment, and I intend to see it through.” Eames is just standing there, grinning at him. His front tooth is slightly longer than the rest, and crooked, too, and it takes everything Arthur has in him not to find it charming.

 

“Can you even sing?” Arthur asks, tearing his eyes away from Eames’ mouth.

 

“Can I sing?” Eames laughs. “Darling, give me a moment to warm up and my voice is all yours.”

 

But he doesn’t hear Eames sing that day because Robert bursts through the door, panting and shouting about Ariadne and the new bartender, and then there’s the sound of glass breaking and Arthur just knows they’re going to need a new place to rehearse.

 

Surprisingly, it’s Eames who calms everyone down, acting as mediator between Ari and the bartender who refused to accept her driver’s license and tried to kick her out. Arthur does his best, but the owner tells him they’re out, and then everyone is quiet while Arthur silently fumes as they trek to the Starbucks two blocks down. Saito buys him a herbal tea, but the coffee shop is full of students studying and they end up huddling around a tall table meant for two. He tells them they’re doing Song List C and no one argues, so he plows on, handing out music and lyrics to everyone and telling them he’ll find a new space and they’d all better come ready to sing.

 

Eames catches him as he’s leaving, wrapping his large hand around Arthur’s bicep and halting his perfectly timed, dramatic exit.

 

“I just wanted to say, Arthur,” Eames pauses, and the look he gives Arthur is more honest and open than any he’s offered before. “Happy Thanksgiving.”

 

Something warm and fluttery winds through Arthur’s stomach, but all he can do is nod curtly and leave, the heat of Eames’ hand on him burning through his jacket the whole way home.

 

3.

November 30th.

Arthur has everyone’s phone numbers saved in his contact list, and when Eames still hasn’t shown up at half past seven, he seriously considers calling him. It’s unacceptable that he waltzed into their group, turned it on its head, and then just disappeared. He fumes as he leads them through  _ Good King Wenceslas _ , nearly missing his cue for the ending. The others are rowdy tonight, more than usual, and he knows it’s because the Christmas season is about to kick into high gear. Thanksgiving has passed and carolling isn’t the only thing going on in their lives, so he can’t really blame them for being distracted. Only, it hasn’t been like this the past few weeks. Sure, they’re all still loud and mouthy, poking at Arthur’s staunch leadership whenever they can, but once Eames has entertained them with a tall tale or two, they settle down to business, ready to sing. It’s not that he misses Eames, it’s just that he’s less useless than Arthur assumed in the beginning.

 

When they break at nine, Arthur waves goodbye and trudges to the closest subway station. He’s halfway down the stairs when he sees that Eames has left him a message. He purses his lips, ready to be proven right about Eames flaking on them, but his heart starts to patter when he sees the picture Eames has sent.

 

**Darling, sorry to have missed your company this evening, but I am ill and I know what a stickler you are with regards to fluid exchanges during carolling season. As you can see, I am still devastatingly handsome with a cold, but my nose feels ready to fall off and I’ve run out of tea. I’m quite unfit to grace anyone with my presence, especially you.**

 

**I can also provide evidence of the three boxes of tissues I’ve gone through, if needed. -Eames**

 

Arthur takes in the puffiness around Eames’ eyes and the red tinge to his nose, but he’s having a really hard time peeling his eyes away from the rest of it. He supposes Eames was right to skip rehearsal, but really, the picture is a little much. Arthur didn’t need visual proof of his cold. Or his muscles. Or his  _ tattoos _ . And the dog is overkill, I mean, come on! 

 

_ Your friend is cute, what’s their name? _ Arthur texts back, slipping his phone into his pocket and ignoring it until he’s exiting the station near his house.

 

**That’s Groke, my best girl!**

 

Arthur frowns at the screen.

 

_ Groke as in someone who stares at you while you eat in the hope that you will give them some? _

 

**Will you never cease to amaze me, darling? And it’s an appropriate name, believe me.**

 

Arthur smiles to himself and wanders into the grocer on the corner. He buys a tub of chicken soup, tissues, and tea, giving the owner’s son a twenty and an address before he heads out.

 

An hour later, as he’s reading in bed, Eames sends another message.

 

**Arthur. Darling.**

 

Arthur preens at the image of a bowl of soup and a cup of tea.

 

_ See you next week, Mr. Eames _

 

4.

December 7th

Eames shows up with seconds to spare, but he’s juggling several gift bags, so Arthur lets it slide in favour of his curiosity. 

 

“So sorry I was absent last week,” Eames says, lining the bags up on the table. “I didn’t want to get anyone sick and risk the wrath of Arthur.”

 

“I think you’re getting smarter in your old age,” Yusuf jokes, yelping when Eames smacks his hand away from one of the bags.

 

Arthur clears his throat. “We need to get started, so if Eames will kindly put his shopping away…”

 

“No, darling, they’re for you!” Eames grins.

 

“For me?” Arthur curses the flush he feels creeping up his neck, but thankfully the others are two drinks in and don’t seem to notice. Except Eames, who looks sober as a church mouse and delighted by Arthur’s response.

 

“For everyone,” Eames clarifies, handing out bags. “As an apology, and as costumes for our performances!”

 

Robert bursts out laughing, pulling out a tacky Christmas sweater. He turns it around to show them the front, where ‘Santa’s Fourth Favorite HO’ is stitched in gold thread.

 

“I love it!” Robert declares, pulling it over the sweater he’s already wearing.

 

The others tear into their bags, proudly showing them off and laughing. Yusuf gets one with a fuzzy sheep and ‘Fleece Navidad’ on it, and Dom’s features Santa peeing Merry Christmas in the snow. Saito’s is green and yellow, with ‘Resting Grinch Face’ printed across the chest, and he seems quietly pleased, so of course Ari has to scream when she opens hers. She puts it on without showing them, and even Arthur has to smile when he reads ‘My Favorite Season is the Fall of the Patriarchy’ in green and red letters.

 

“Thank you, Eames!” She hugs him and then dances around the small room, Mal joining her in her blue and white ‘Happy Hanukkah, Gin and Tonica’ sweater. 

 

“Well, darling, aren’t you going to open yours?” Eames asks, sidling up to him.

 

Arthur sighs. “We can’t actually wear these carolling, you know that, right?” 

 

“You might be surprised about how that vote will go,” Saito pipes up, swirling whatever ridiculously expensive port he’s drinking.

 

Eames grins and Arthur rolls his eyes and pulls out his sweater. “When I think about you, I ELF myself.”

 

“Get it?” Eames prods, glee in his eyes.

 

“Yes, Eames, I get it,” Arthur says, unable to keep his smile under wraps. It’s charming, and even a little sweet that Eames did this for them, and it turns out Arthur’s a sucker for a guy who makes his people happy. “What about you? Where’s your sweater.”

 

Eames happily unzips his jacket, unveiling a classic-looking red sweater with navy banding and white snowflakes. It takes a second for Arthur to notice the display of three reindeer fucking in a line, but when he does he can’t help the genuine, deep laugh that bursts out of him.

 

Eames’ thumb brushes over one of his dimples and Arthur’s smile widens, a direct response to the wonder he sees in Eames’ eyes. An hour later, Arthur hears Eames actually sing for the first time and he falls in love, just a little.

 

5.

December 14th.

Arthur is bundled up against the cold when he bumps into Eames outside their new meeting place. It’s a small performance studio run by some friend of Robert’s who is letting them use it for ‘free’. Arthur doesn’t know, and doesn’t care what Robert is doing to get them the rate, he just cares that’s it has heat and they’re allowed to bring in their own booze.

 

“Good evening, kind sir!” Eames calls. “Entry this evening is attainable by answering a bit of Christmas trivia.”

 

“Eames, I’m freezing, let me in,” Arthur grumbles, his breath ghosting through his scarf.

 

“Your question is,” Eames ploughs on, pulling an index card from his coat pocket. “What Canadian province leads the world in exporting Christmas trees?”

 

“Nova Scotia, now  _ move _ ,” Arthur says, pushing past him into the entry.

 

“Hold up, how on earth did you know that?”

 

Arthur has already started up the stairs, but he turns back and winks. “I know everything about Christmas, Eames, that’s why I’m in charge.”

 

Arthur laughs the rest of the way up, relishing the look of bewilderment on Eames’ face. Most of the group are already there, discussing which questions they got and how many they went through before they had a correct answer.

 

“How did it take you twelve questions to get one right?” Arthur asks Dom, who looks very put out at being forced to divulge his number.

 

“They were very hard questions, Arthur,” he snaps, sinking lower in his chair and taking a long pull from his flask. It’s their first night out, and everyone is pre-gaming.

 

“I got it in three,” Robert preens.

 

“Oi! That’s cheating!” Eames bellows, stomping up the stairs after Saito. “You didn’t answer correctly!”

 

“You only said I had to answer, not that it had to be correct,” Saito points out, sliding out of his long wool coat and draping it over a chair.

 

“Forty-two is not the answer to ‘Which colour suit does Santa wear in Russia’.” Eames argues.

 

“Blue,” Arthur pipes, sorting through his music. Eames’ head turns sharply, his eyes narrowing, but Arthur just smiles.

 

“Is forty-two not the  answer to the ultimate question of life, the universe and everything?” Saito asks calmly.

 

“You,” Eames says, pointing his finger at Saito, who raises an eyebrow in return. “Have got me there.”

 

Arthur shakes his head, but he can’t say he hates it when Eames sits next to him and pouts. 

 

“How do you know so much about Christmas?” Eames whispers while Mal is running vocal drills.

 

“I have a PhD in Yule,” Arthur whispers back, smirking.

 

“You’re a menace,” Eames hisses, bumping their shoulders together. “But I like it.”

 

That night, Arthur sends Eames a link for a YouTube video from November 2002.

 

**ARTHUR! Did you send me porn?**

 

_ No, pretty sure I sent you a link to the Jeopardy! College Championship. _

 

**Oh. Should I not be elfing myself as I watch you decimate this ponce from Ohio State, then?**

 

_ Far be it from me to tell you how to spend your evening, Mr Eames. Enjoy your viewing. _

 

Arthur wakes in the morning to two more messages from Eames, and he can’t help but enjoy the warmth in his chest when he reads them.

 

**Smug is a dashing look on you, darling, but I think I prefer the dimples.**

 

**Good God, Arthur, you still drive the Volvo you won!**

  
  


+1. 

December 21st. 

Carolling is serious business. There’s member scouting, song selection, route planning and event scheduling, rehearsals, vocal practice, and most of all, layering. Arthur’s crew doesn’t go the Victorian carolers route because it’s trite and overdone, not to mention the cost involved in outfitting rotating members when needed. Instead, they stick to jaunty Christmas themed hats, which allows them to wear their winter coats like sane people out for a walk on a cold December evening. Eames’ sweaters throw a wrench in this a bit as they all now look like overstuffed sausages with their thermal layers underneath. But the lot of them are well lubricated and ready to sing, so Arthur does one last costume and vocal check. 

 

Mal is wearing a fascinator in white to match her sweater, Saito has a surprisingly adorable long red and white striped toque, and Dom looks like he’s wearing a literal turkey on his head, complete with feathers and wattle. Robert’s hat has bells, and Ari’s has elf ears, while Yusuf’s is a hand knit tree beany, complete with tinsel, ornaments, and a star on top. Arthur’s a little jealous of it, truthfully. Not that he’s not proud of his own hat, all 20 cm of red sequence that cover his top hat are exquisite, but Yusuf’s at least keeps his ears warm. 

 

Eames’ hat isn’t really a hat at all, Arthur thinks critically. It’s a headband with a stalk of mistletoe held suspended by a sparkling atena. Mistletoe he’s used to get a kiss from everyone in the group but Arthur. Even Saito pecked him on the cheek. Ari kissed her hand and slapped him, which, while entertaining, is still more than Arthur has been asked to do.

 

Eames barely even looks at him until they’re on their tenth house, when he slides in between Arthur and Dom to sing  _ O Come, O Come, Emmanuel _ , and practically croons the harmonies into Arthur’s ear. It continues like that, with little touches to Arthur back and shoulders, Eames’ pinky brushing against his while they sing  _ Silver Bells _ outside a busy coffee shop and twisting Arthur’s stomach into a fluttery mess of nerves and anticipation. 

 

By nine the stores are closing and people are heading home to wrap presents and drink away the shame they feel for shouting at a stranger who dared try and take the last bag of Bugles out of their hands, or worse, the parking stall they’d clearly been waiting for. 

 

Arthur hugs the others and bids them farewell, huddling in his tacky sweater and heading for home in the opposite direction. He doesn’t even make it a block before Eames falls into step beside him, nudging Arthur’s shoulder with his and grinning in the twinkling lights from the storefront displays.

 

“I wanted to thank you,” Eames tells him.

 

Arthur clears his throat, goosebumps rising on his arm when their hands touch. “For?”

 

“For this. The carolling. Being a part of this has saved me from a lonely Christmas, you know.”

 

“I wasn’t exactly welcoming,” Arthur admits. 

 

Eames laughs. “Nah, you just like to make a bloke work for it.”

 

“Maybe,” Arthur says, thrilling at the timbre in Eames voice.

 

“How did I do?” Eames purrs, his nose brushing the shell of Arthur’s ear.

 

Arthur stops him, gripping the front of Eames’ sweater with both hands, and they’re so close the puffs of air they’re expelling into the cold mingle before they fade. “You didn’t ask me to kiss you under the mistletoe.”

 

Eames’ hands are warm and solid on his back, dragging Arthur a step closer so he can nose across his cheek. “I didn’t want you to feel like you had to. If you’re going to kiss me, I want it to be because you wan—”

 

Arthur cuts him off with his lips, and the kiss is cold and jarring at first, but soon everything turns warm and wet, and Arthur has Eames pressed against the exposed brick of an artisan pickle shoppe until there’s no space between them. 

 

Someone hollers from across the street, and Arthur breaks the kiss, gasping and laughing at the disgruntled look on Eames’ face.

 

“I have confession to make,” Arthur says, kissing the tip of Eames’ nose.

 

“Yeah?” Eames smiles, breathless.

 

Arthur leans in close, flicking the lobe of Eames’ ear with his tongue and whispering: “When I think about you, I elf myself.”


End file.
